She was too damned happy.
Yes, she was 0 for 2 in the game of love. Yes, she’d always been a loser magnet and yes, when it came to picking a man who was able to keep his pecker in his pants, show her even a modicum of respect and who didn’t have any ulterior motive, she hadn’t been very successful. Hadn’t been lucky.
But she instinctively knew her luck had just changed.
None of those men were Sam Martelli.
Sam was simply a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. She hadn’t detected even the smallest hint of dishonesty in his character, not a single red flag had gone up. In her previous relationships, those warnings had sounded and she’d ignored them because she’d been so desperate to be wanted, so afraid of being alone. She’d been harboring the honey-I’m-home dream so long that she’d looked at every man who showed even the slightest bit of potential and cast him in the role of husband. Sad, but true.
Furthermore, she’d met every ex-fiancé through work and each one had been initially interested in her as a result of business-related issues. What her company could do for them. Vince had installed her computer network and Roger had wanted her business account.
In the end, neither one of them had wanted to be her husband.
Curiously, the one man who sparked a blaze of interest was the one man whom she hadn’t considered for the role. And she wouldn’t consider him now either, she decided firmly. Delaney had jumped to conclusions in the past, had lead with her heart and blindly followed.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of partner he would make, couldn’t help imagining them plundering estate sales together and cuddling in front of the TV on cold winter nights. Couldn’t help but fantasize about the rowdy family he clearly loved. Would that she could be a part of something like that, Delaney thought wistfully. Furthermore, despite mental warnings to the contrary, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of parent he’d be. Couldn’t help imagining waking up to him every morning…as she had this morning.
Delaney loaded her sponge with moisturizing bath gel and quietly considered that perfect moment. There’d been something altogether different about waking up in his arms this morning, she decided.
Aside from the fact that she was naked—a biggie for her because she’d never slept in the buff in her life, much less with a man beside her—there had still been an intangible, metaphysical something that had kindled between them. She’d awoken with a hard wall of warm male flesh at her back, a hairy leg pressed intimately between her thighs, and a hot hand upon her breast. Warmth eddied through her and sheer delight bloomed in her chest.
Sam, for all intents and purposes, appeared to just want her, didn’t seem to be remotely interested in anything she or her company might be able to do for him. Dare she consider anything more permanent with him? Dare she see him again beyond this weekend?
Delaney bit her lip and pondered the weighty question. She’d planned to give herself this weekend with him, then cut all ties once they returned to Memphis. The mere idea pricked her heart with regret. She’d planned to essentially use him to help herself rise above her insecurities, had planned to forget him, but remember everything he’d done to her.
Was that even possible? she wondered now. The two were so hopelessly intertwined, she didn’t know where the one began and other ended.
Just like her tangled feelings. A part of her wanted to keep things on a safe, unemotional level, enjoy her newfound sensuality without any sticky, complicated hang-ups. Fun, sex, more fun, more sex. Did she mention more sex?
But another part desperately wanted something more permanent. For instance, she wanted exclusive rights to that magnificent body. Didn’t want him to think about any woman but herself, much less touch one. She wanted him to keep looking at her the way he did now when he thought she wasn’t paying attention—like she was the next best thing since sliced bread. Like he adored her. She swallowed tightly.
Like…he loved her.
Delaney shook herself, angrily soaped her body. Clearly her imagination had run amok again, imagining affection where none existed. He couldn’t be in love with her, no more than she could be in love with him. It was ludicrous. They’d known each other less than a week, for pity’s sake. They couldn’t possibly be in love. They were in serious like, serious lust.
But love?
The vaguest wriggle of…something…shifted significantly in her chest, but she squelched the sentiment determinedly. She knew this road well—it lead directly to Heartache Boulevard, a one-way, dead-end street.
And it was sheer hell getting turned around.
That’s why she’d sworn off men. That’s why she’d decided they all sucked.
Delaney recognized the futility of that mental tirade and sagged back against the tub. She could not swear off Sam Martelli—she was hopelessly addicted to him—and regrettably, while the rest of his gender might suck, he didn’t. Her lips quirked. At least in the derogatory sense, anyway.
Basically, he was all she’d ever wanted and considering no one else would ever suffice, she might as well stick with him and see what happened. Her lips curled wryly. As if she had a choice? As if falling for him hadn’t been a foregone conclusion?
Delaney gasped at the thought. Falling for him? Realization settled firmly in her heart, alternately weighting then lightening the traitorous organ.
Oh, hell. She’d fallen for him.
With a wail of frustrated regret and happiness, she sank under the water. Oh, Lord, she prayed. Please let him be the genuine article. Don’t let him break my heart.
“THAT IS POSITIVELY wicked,” Sam breathed as Delaney strolled back into the bedroom. That being the hot-pink gauzy teddy, matching thong and marabou slippers she currently pirouetted in. Spaghetti straps held up the barely-there sheer baby-doll gown and a single bow tie centered provocatively between her breasts was the only thing that held the racy garment closed.
Sam imagined loosening those ties with his teeth, sliding his hands up and over her slim rib cage and thumbing the undersides of her breasts. Hot-pink marabou fur trimmed the hem and swirled tantalizingly around the tops of her thighs. She bent over the bed, offering him an exaggerated flash of bare-assed beauty, then looked over her shoulder and tossed him a saucy wink.
“I like wicked,” she told him. Her eyes flashed meaningfully. “Particularly with you.”
He could take her right there, Sam thought, as he fired away several succinct shots with his camera. Move that thong over a mere inch and slide right into her tight heat.
When he’d walked into their room this evening, she’d been waiting for him. Not naked as she’d promised, but almost better than naked, if there were such a thing. He’d found her sitting in the chaise with a sketchbook in her lap, wearing the most lust-provoking outfit he’d ever seen. She’d worn a black silk bustier, matching undies and fishnet stockings held up by a tiny garter belt. For inspiration, she’d told him when he’d stood and stared mutely at her for interminable minutes.
He couldn’t argue that the outfit was…inspiring.
He’d damn sure been inspired—inspired to take it off of her. Inspired to snap a few pictures of her. A few had led to many, and now they were working on outfit number three. She’d gone from being a timid little kitten in front of the camera to a confident hellcat in under a week. The transformation was damned astounding. The camera loved her, and she moved in front of it better than any woman he’d ever worked with. After a moment, he said as much.
“You’re a natural,” he told her. “Utterly incredible.”
There’d been something different about her tonight, Sam thought consideringly, some indefinable something. She seemed less guarded, more open. Hopeful even, for lack of a better term. Progress, he realized with a pleased start, noting the warm affectionate gleam beneath that brazen sparkle.
Delaney rubbed sinuously against the bedpost and gave him another tempting smile. His heart slammed against his rib cage. “Who wouldn’t be for you? I don�
�t think that I’ve told you yet, but I loved my boudoir photos. You’re extremely talented.” She lay down on the bed and pretended to smooth away a nonexistent wrinkle from her hose. She cast him a sidelong glance, chuckled softly. “In fact, I’d even considered offering you a job at the Chifferobe.”
“Is that right?” Sam said lightly as everything inside him mentally leapt at the possibility. He abandoned the idea of working for her when he’d realized that she was The One, had been sure that she’d find some sort of ulterior motive in his interest if she ever learned that he’d submitted his portfolio for her review. That’s why he’d pulled it. Clearly, though, that wasn’t the case, otherwise she’d have never brought it up.
Sam felt his lips slide into a hesitant grin. He’d been waiting for this opportunity, waiting for her to notice his talent. But it was almost too much to hope for, that he’d get the dream girl and the dream job.
“That’s right,” she confirmed.
Sam paused and scratched his temple, offered her a tentative smile. “You know, it’s funny you should say that…because, as it happens, my portfolio sat at the Chifferobe for several months.”
She stilled, and the instant she looked at him, Sam knew that he’d just made an incredibly stupid tactical error.
“Your portfolio’s with my company?” she asked in a curiously flat yet significant tone.
Sam stilled, too, afraid to make any sudden moves. “Er…yes. It was.”
Her face became a pale emotionless mask, then she abruptly sat up, looked heavenward and smirked, a grim, pain-filled I-should-have-known expression that immediately turned Sam’s insides to lead.
When she finally turned to look at him, the rest of his body turned to lead as well. Her eyes glittered with fury and unshed tears. “We’ve spent the last five days together and yet you never thought that it was important enough to mention?” She smiled without humor. “Let me guess. Waiting for the right moment?”
Sam swallowed. Panic had made his brain sluggish, and he couldn’t get a single syllable past his lips. He opened his mouth, but apparently not fast enough, because Delaney quickly slid from the bed and began to stuff her things into her bag.
“You know what?” she said briskly. “Just save it. Forget I asked that question.” She laughed bitterly. “My God, I am such a fool. I know all I need to know.”
No, she didn’t, dammit, Sam thought as his heart geared into overdrive. She didn’t know that he loved her, didn’t know that he couldn’t live without her. His hands shook at his sides. “No, that’s not true. You’re not listening. I pulled the damned—”
Another choked laugh pushed from her throat. “You know, Sam, this is an all-too-familiar scene for me and I’d just as soon not play it out.”
Sam resisted the urge to tear out his hair. How in God’s name had he gotten himself into this mess? He’d barely said a word and yet the few that he’d uttered were clearly the wrong ones. He swallowed tightly. “Delaney, just listen to me a minute,” Sam pleaded quietly. “If you’ll just let me—”
Delaney held up a hand. “Sam, I mean it. Save it.” She paused, dragged in a shallow breath and he caught the slight quiver in her chin. “Please.”
Sam shoved an impatient hand through his hair. “Dammit. Delaney, just let me explain—”
She swallowed and he could tell that it cost her. “I think that you’ve said enough, and I’d really like you to leave me alone and just let me pack.” She blew out a shuddering breath. “I w-want to go home.”
It was useless, Sam thought numbly as he watched her quietly gather her things. He’d blown it. Pain clogged his throat and he tried to think of some way to make things right. To fix them. But that would want a great deal more time than he had at present. Besides, she wasn’t in any frame of mind to listen to anything he had to say. She hadn’t heard anything past him telling her that his portfolio had sat at her company for months. Past tense, but she hadn’t noticed. Wouldn’t listen. He needed to pull back and regroup.
Sam eventually sighed. “If you want to go home, I’ll take you home,” he offered. “It’ll only take—”
“No,” she said, clearly losing the battle with patience. Her voice vibrated with tension, with hurt. “I don’t want you to take me home. I’ll drive myself. The best thing that you can do for me, Mr. Martelli, is to leave me alone.” Her voice was final, emphatic.
Sam’s chest constricted painfully and he felt every bit of the blood drain from his head as her tone and what it meant fully registered.
“Delaney, please,” he pleaded, dangerously close to what felt horrifyingly like… The back of his throat burned, his eyes stung. The top of his head felt like it was about to blow off.
“Go!” she screamed, then her face crumpled pitifully. “Just go.”
With a helpless shrug, Sam turned and walked silently from the room. Unable to help himself, he paused at the door and turned back to face her. He let every bit of what he was feeling show in his face. Didn’t try to hide a single emotion, including the love and pain. Leaving her felt like an amputation, like he was leaving a part of himself. And he was, Sam realized—his heart.
“You’ve got it all wrong, you know,” he said softly, then just as quietly let himself out.
Delaney’s anguished sob followed him down the hall.
14
“ARE YOU OKAY, BOSS?” Beth asked tentatively and carefully handed Delaney the packet of pictures she’d just picked up from the one-hour photo shop. Her assistant was treating her like an unstable bomb again, Delaney thought wearily, speaking softly with no sudden moves, obviously scared that she’d go off.
The effort was moot. Delaney was numb inside, completely without feeling. She didn’t possess the necessary spark to go off. Didn’t have the energy, the drive required to pull a Katie-kaboom.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Delaney said listlessly.
Beth’s brow furrowed with concern. “Can I get you anything? A Big Block maybe, or a chocolate volcano from Dibley’s?”
She should have been tempted, yet she wasn’t. Incredibly, even chocolate therapy hadn’t been effective. Delaney shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“If you’re sure…” Beth said, lingering helplessly.
Delaney swallowed a small breath and met Beth’s worried gaze. “I’m sure, Beth. But I appreciate the offer.”
Beth bit her bottom lip. “Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll be right outside should you need anything.”
Delaney nodded her thanks, calmly waited on Beth to close the door behind her before she allowed herself to open the deceptively innocuous packet. Her fingers shook as she pulled the stack of photos out and her throat grew tight with unshed emotion as she stared at Sam’s irritatingly endearing self-conscious expression. The look was completely at odds with that made-for-sin gloriously naked body. She studied him, traced the achingly familiar curves of his face with her gaze. Those slumberous dark eyes, the angular slant of his jaw, and those oh-so-wonderful lips.
Her eyes burned and a lump formed in her throat and, to her immeasurable irritation, need swiveled low in her belly, a painful reminder of all they’d shared and would never share again.
She flipped through the pictures in quick succession, watched those incredibly gorgeous eyes go from extreme discomfort to downright smoldering in a matter of frames. That hot gaze had been locked on hers, even as one hand idly stroked that impressive staff between his thighs. She’d never seen anything so damned erotic in her life, and just looking at him now brought the entire arousing experience back into sharp focus, made her breath hitch and her nipples bud. Her thighs quiver and her sex wet.
It didn’t matter that he’d turned out to be just like everyone else—just another man who’d wanted something from her. Didn’t matter that he’d had an ulterior motive—she still wanted him. Desperately.
The wanting she could rationalize—she’d become addicted to him over the past week and her body was simply going into withdrawal. And why wouldn’t it? He’d
made her blood sing in her veins, made her heart light, made her want to share the same air with him, the same space. It was a wholly natural, albeit miserable, experience, but one that she could easily understand and ultimately forgive.
But what filled her with self-disgust—what she couldn’t forgive—was how she desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, wanted to paint him with a different brush…just so that she could give herself permission to have him back.
Because she wanted him back more than anything.
How screwed up was that?
It didn’t matter that he wanted a job, didn’t matter that he wasn’t any different from any of the other men she’d dated in that regard, though he’d certainly been a one-of-a-kind in every other area. Disheartening? Yes. But when she weighed the pros and cons, being with him just seemed so much more important than hanging on to her tattered pride. Pride was a cold comforter, wouldn’t keep her warm at night, wouldn’t make her laugh, wouldn’t haunt the estate sales with her and tour old homes. Wouldn’t give her a family, wouldn’t give her a child.
Good grief, Delaney silently railed. Hadn’t she learned anything? Would she never learn? How many times did she have to get her heart trampled before she learned not to give it away? How many times was she going to swallow her pride in order to hang on to a man? Hadn’t she eaten it enough? Didn’t it leave a bad aftertaste?
Not anymore, Delaney decided, though the decision painfully wrenched her heart. She couldn’t do it. No matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much she might want to just say to hell with everything, offer Sam a job, take back up where they left off and see where things went…she just couldn’t do it. Doing so would make her an even bigger fool than she was before Vince, before Roger. She had to draw the line at some point and, regrettably, it had to be at this one.
With Sam.
A hot tear slipped down her cheek and she bit her trembling lip in an effort to stem the flow. The pain came from a broken place deep down inside her, a place that affected more than her heart—her fractured soul. Delaney knew that she should just let it go, should do exactly what she’d done the previous two times she’d been disappointed in a man, but somehow this time seemed different—the hurt more intense, more bittersweet. With Vince and Roger, heartache—while she never would have admitted it—had been a foregone conclusion. The potential for disappointment had been there.
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